“Finished?” he asks, arching that dark brow at me again.
His fingers are still locked around my wrist, and I feel like his touch is branding me, searing into my skin, marking me with this most embarrassing moment of my life for all of eternity.
I manage to scurry to my feet, but he keeps a firm grip on me, running his thumb over my inner wrist in the barest of touches before finally letting me go and turning his attention back to the men at his table, dismissing me like I don’t exist, like I never existed. It’s ridiculous that it hurts, but it does. Before I can embarrass myself further, I turn and bolt back to the safety of my hostess stand, not daring to look back even though I really, really want to.
As if things couldn’t get worse, there’s an annoyed couple waiting for me when I get back.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, which is apparently my new motto.
“We’ve been waiting for like ten minutes,” the redhead says, towering over me in her stilettos and black, designer dress. I suddenly feel like an ugly idiot, and it takes all my willpower to plaster on a fake smile and apologize yet again.
“We’d like two seats over by the bar,” the man says, straightening his tie and looking as put out as his wife. “If you can manage that,” he adds, because some people aren’t content to just stab; they have to turn that knife a bit too.
“Of course,” I say, grabbing two menus and turning to lead them to the bar area. As I do, my eyes drift over the table I just humiliated myself at and see the man I’d spilled water on staring at me. His eyes lock on mine for the briefest of moments before he turns his attention back to the paunchy man. A smile would’ve been nice. Asorry for humiliating you while you were on your knees and just trying to helpnod would’ve been just dandy.
Walking to a two-seater by the bar, I set the menus down and give Wendy a small wave to let her know I’ve just sat a couple in her section. The clock on the wall lets me know I have thirty minutes of hell left before my replacement comes in. I keep myself busy with cleaning the menus and seating people as they come in. My eyes keep drifting over to the table in the corner, but he doesn’t look over at me again. Knowing he’s wearing my tracker gives me a small bit of satisfaction, but I’m still not sure why I tagged him. The guy is obviously loaded, but I’m not so sure I want to break into that guy’s house. Something tells me he’s not a man to cross, and it’s not like I’m going to be able to follow him beyond what he does tonight unless he wears the same damn pair of pants every day, which I highly doubt he does. No, it’s best I stick with the sad guy at the bar, who I’m betting wears those shoes most days. He’s a much easier target. His house I can break into and escape with my life.
As soon as Dawn comes in to take over, I give her a grateful smile and grab my purse from where I keep it stashed in the hostess stand before shooting one more look at the table in the corner, but the three men are deep in conversation, and I don’t get a final look from the man with the unreadable face.
Once outside, I walk down the crowded street, weaving through the couples going to and from one of the many restaurants on this downtown block and families who are out after a day spent at the lake, arms filled with shopping bags and faces that are still overly red from the sun. I didn’t grow up here, but when my dad moved us to this city when I was sixteen, I’d fallen in love with it immediately. It’s big enough to make you feel invisible while not being too big to ever feel like home, and the giant lake it’s built around is so beautiful it still takes my breath away every time I see it.
When I get to my apartment building, I stop to check my mail, not surprised when there isn’t anything, and then take the stairs two at a time because I’m too impatient to wait for the slow-as-molasses elevator. Stepping into my tiny, one-bedroom apartment, I hurry up and turn the deadbolts, all four of them because I know firsthand how easy it is to break into someone’s place, and then drop my purse, hurrying over to my laptop.
I plop down on the couch and open it up. A giddy anticipation falls over me when I type in my password and then pull up my tracking sensors. I’m still in touch with one of my dad’s old contacts, and Jinx, the computer hacker God and getter of all things spy worthy, is a contact that I hope to never lose. He’s the one who keeps me supplied with trackers and helps me bypass security systems and keep my own computer secure. He costs a small fortune, but he’s worth every damn penny.
I pull up my two trackers, watching the GPS quickly load before two dots appear. Paunchy man at the bar is tracker one, and sexy, unreadable man is number two. Both are still sitting at the restaurant, making me tap my fingers in anticipation. I let out a small laugh when I see the first tracker start to move. Every time I get excited about an upcoming robbery, I’m reminded of the fact that most twenty-five-year-olds hang out with friends for fun. Normal people don’t put trackers on others so they can steal from them. I push aside the thought because it’s cramping my hunting high and instead focus on the dot that’s currently making its way down Juniper Street before taking a left onto Maple.
A quick peek tells me dot number two is still sitting in the restaurant as dot number one pulls into 5718 Westover Lane. Bingo. I pull up his address, smiling when I’m able to zoom in on a mansion of a house that’s probably filled with more treasure than my greedy little hands can hold. Settling in, I dig deeper and find out dot number one is really Fred Monroe. He’s in his mid-fifties, divorced, and works as an accountant for a pretty big advertising company downtown.
“Don’t worry, Fred. I won’t take anything that you’re going to miss,” I whisper to myself, already memorizing the layout of his house and coming up with a plan. I spend the rest of the night immersed in my research only stopping to take a quick break to heat up some leftover Chinese food. Before I quit for the night, I check up on dot number two and am surprised to find that he’s taken a very twisty route that’s brought him to a shady part of town by the docks. I grow bored watching the dot that refuses to budge and put my focus back on Fred. By the time I fall asleep, I’ve got it all figured out.
Less than twenty-four hours later, I’m dressing in black yoga pants with a black, slim-fit hoodie before pulling on a black pair of running shoes. With my hood pulled up, I’ll be practically invisible tonight since it’s overcast and there’s not even a hint of the moon. Grabbing my small, black backpack, I slip it on and make my way out of the building.
Once outside, I slip on a yellow reflective belt and start to stretch, looking every bit like a runner out for a nighttime run who has an affinity for black. Checking my phone one last time to make sure that little blinking dot is still at the bar on the other side of the city, I start off at a light jog, working my way down a few different side streets, heading towards Westover Lane in a circuitous route that will bring me right to the back of his house. After a few minutes, my muscles loosen up and I find my groove. The run is pleasant with the light, cool breeze that always seems to be around thanks to the lake, and my mind clears of everything except the plan I’ve gone over a million times in my head.
I reach Fred’s house right on schedule and slip my reflective belt off and into my pocket. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, I put on my black gloves and scale his privacy fence by way of the conveniently located birch tree growing right next to it and a few well-placed footholds on his wooden fence. I hang from a branch on the other side, dropping silently the few feet to the ground as adrenaline courses through me. Crouching down, my eyes run over his house, eyeing the dark windows in all three stories and the sensor lights he has positioned on the corner and above his backdoor. The place is even more impressive up close, and I’m surprised he doesn’t have better security than this.
When I’m satisfied it’s empty and I haven’t alerted any nosy neighbors, I stay crouched low and make my way around his yard, sticking close to the fence and heading in the direction that doesn’t have a motion detector light. His huge in-ground pool looks fun as hell, but now isn’t the time for a night swim, so I carry on with the business at hand. When my hands touch the red brick of his house, I plaster my body against it and carefully make my way to his backdoor, hoping the light above it isn’t so sensitive that it’ll catch movement right below it. The sensor is aimed for several feet out, so I should be good. Hopefully.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding when I’m up against the door and the light above me is still dark. Slipping my hand into my hoodie, I pull out my phone and hit send on the text to Jinx that’s already written and ready to go. He responds with a thumbs up, and I silently count to thirty before grabbing the small velvet bag that holds my lock picking tools. Just feeling them in my hands brings back so many memories. I smile as I slide the slender pick into the lock in front of me, remembering the time my dad set out an array of locks and then timed me to see how fast I could go. He’d given me this set when I’d turned sixteen with a proud grin on his face.
I can still hear his voice in my head when he’d taken me on my first job and then watched me climb up a trellis before relieving old Mrs. Andrews of the jewelry her third husband had bought her. She’d just tied the knot with number five, so it’s not like she needed it.
Charlie, you were made for this, sweetheart. You’ve got stickier fingers than your old man.
I push aside the memories, knowing now is not the time to get nostalgic. When I hear the soft click, I turn the knob and step inside, relieved when the alarm system remains quiet. Not that I was really worried. Jinx has never let me down. A quick check of my phone lets me know Fred is still happily slinging back drinks. Not wanting to waste any time, even if he is planning on indulging in a bender, I walk further into his house, heading straight for his bedroom. He hasn’t made any changes to the house, so the layout is exactly like the one I found online, making it easy for me to speed walk through the living room and past the dining room and home office before running up the stairs and finding the third door on the left.
Stepping in, I shake my head at the unmade bed and pile of clothes on the floor. The mess mixed with the dank smell tells me that bachelorhood is not treating Fred all that well. During my research I learned that his wife had cheated on him and run off with her lover, leaving him alone but with most of his finances intact. If my instincts are right, and they usually are, I’m betting she left some valuables behind.
A quick sweep of his room leaves me empty handed, so I move to the large, walk-in closet. I almost feel sorry for the guy when I see that he hasn’t bothered to clear all her shit out.
“Fred, you deserve better than this,” I murmur, running my hands over his wife’s tacky clothes. Pushing aside the gaudy, flower-print monstrosities, I smile when I see a large jewelry box that’s been shoved in the far corner, surrounded by sandals and a pair of winter boots. Tugging the box out, I open the lid and suck in a breath. My eyes run over the diamond necklace with sapphires that’s sitting right on top.
Too obvious, I think, pushing it aside and instead open the small drawers beneath it. I settle on a pair of diamond earrings and a diamond and ruby necklace. Both of them should get me enough to fund a big chunk of my travel plans, and Fred really doesn’t need this reminder of his wife. I’m doing the poor guy a favor by relieving him of these bad memories. The beauty of what I do is that rarely do my burglaries get reported. I take things that go undetected. It’ll be years, if ever, that Fred realizes these items are gone, and even then, he’ll assume he’s just remembering things wrong, that his wife must have taken them when she left. I don’t ever take anything that has real sentimental value or anything that I think would be missed. If Fred’s wife had died, I wouldn’t be stealing her jewels right now. There are lines I won’t cross. I stuff the necklace and earrings into my pocket. This just isn’t one of them.
After I slip from the house and scale the fence, I send Jinx a smiley face emoji, knowing he’ll have the system rearmed in less than a minute. I check Fred again, shaking my head when I see he’s still at the bar. Poor guy. Maybe he’ll get lucky and find a gal to take home. I’m guessing he could use a night of fun.
Unable to resist, I slip my fingers into my pocket and run them over the diamond and ruby necklace, smiling as I make my way back home.